A Lonely Place: A Summary and Analysis
“I was born when she kissed me. I died when she left me. I lived a few weeks while she loved me. Like it? Love it.”
A few years ago, I discovered this film on Netflix and longed for a copy of my own. Initially, the DVD was priced around $50–$80 on Amazon, as it was the DVD equivalent of an out-of-print treasure.
Then, about a year ago, the Criterion Collection released it for $30 (not even on Blu-ray), and I bought it with gratitude. This is how good this movie is—my favorite noir film of all time.
Below is a condensed review that captures my love and knowledge of this remarkable film.
Overview and Adaptation
“In a Lonely Place” is a 1950 film based on a 1947 novel of the same name and is directed by Nicholas Ray. Starring Humphrey Bogart and Gloria Grahame, the movie takes significant liberties with its source material. While the book focuses on a serial killer/rapist named Dixon Steele, the film transforms him into a down-on-his-luck script writer with severe anger issues, who is tasked by his agent to turn a book into a script.
The film wastes no time in reworking its plot. Dixon, after hastily inviting a hatcheck girl (whom we’ll call Missy McGuffin) back to his place for the plot details, finds himself as the last person to see her alive.
Consequently, he is at the top of the suspect list. In desperate need of an alibi, he turns to his neighbor, introducing us to Laurel Gray, as portrayed by Gloria Grahame.
Plot, Characters, and Audience Manipulation
Laurel Gray is the exact opposite of the McGuffin; she is not coy, cute, or corny—in fact, when Dixon sees her for the first time at the police station he thinks, “There she is. The one that’s different.” Naturally, Dix falls for her. With her corroboration of his innocence, the movie shifts from murder mystery to a burgeoning romance. With Laurel’s support, Dixon is inspired and happy, even as she epitomizes the 1950s archetype for the happy housewife—a part secretary, part mother, and part lover.
Humphrey Bogart displays a vulnerability and playfulness that is rarely seen again on film, evoking genuine intimacy that contrasts with the darkness inherent in its noir roots. However, the film doesn’t shy away from dire consequences. The ever-present police interference and a revelation by Captain Lochner about Dix’s sordid history of violence begin to cast doubt. Concurrently, an encounter with the world’s creepiest masseuse reminds us that even unassuming looks can hide a sociopath.
Domestic Tensions and Theories on Aggression
A pivotal scene at a beach party reveals Laurel’s secretive behavior when she is called in for questioning, and a misunderstood argument ensues between her and Dix. This confrontation, forced by the circumstances, has been interpreted in multiple ways.
One interpretation is that this scene exists solely to display what we already know about Dix—to progress the plot. Another, drawn from Freudian theory on aggression displacement, suggests that Dix’s anger, built-up from inner turmoil, finds a release in Laurel.
In his mind, his pent-up anger turns against her, a pattern reinforced when he later punches Mel, his agent. Dix’s act of sending a check for $300 (roughly $3000 in today’s economy) to cover damages is known to the audience but not to Laurel, deepening her doubts and her subsequent insomnia and reliance on pills.
This interplay of fear and desire, coupled with Nicholas Ray’s masterful storytelling, makes the characters both desperately afraid and hopelessly desperate. When Dix rings his hands to propose marriage, the previously open, playful body language has given way to distant, tense, and doubtful interactions.
For about 20 more minutes, we witness Laurel plotting her escape, Dix’s volatile reaction, and the unraveling of their relationship—all while Mel, the dependable agent who doubles as the film’s internal audience member, tries to mediate their troubled dynamic.
Military Past and the Consequences of Anger
Dix’s background as a soldier is never far from the surface—he was a soldier whose predisposition towards anger may have been compounded by war. The film carefully weaves in references to his violent past, from a beer parlor brawl on Santa Monica Blvd to a fractured producer’s jaw after a fist fight, deepening the audience’s understanding of his character. Despite these outbursts, Dix escapes serious consequences, largely because he never apologizes for his actions but merely circumvents repercussions with money and contrition.
The film reaches its emotional peak when Dix returns to find Laurel packing—her departure underscored by a phone call that is as symbolic as it is heartbreaking. Captain Lochner’s phone call confirms that Dix was right all along about the McGuffin’s boyfriend being the killer, and Laurel’s quiet resignation shatters any hope of reconciliation. As one character put it on screen, “Yesterday, this would have meant so much to us. Now it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all.” This final moment—a beautiful shot of Dix walking out the door and through the archway—underscores the movie’s core theme: the loneliness that results when anger rules supreme.
Final Thoughts
The film is a rare combination of good writing, directing, and acting, all working in tandem to create a story where the impact comes from a raw and honest exploration of relationships. Much of this credit goes to Nicholas Ray, who not only reworked the script to suit Gloria Grahame’s unique speech patterns but also subverted audience expectations with an ending that refused to be neat or conventional. Instead of following a cliched path where Dix kills Laurel, the film leaves viewers with a devastating, self-inflicted loneliness born of relentless anger.
Before closing, a minor gripe: “She wears makeup to bed.” That’s it—that’s all the bad I’ve got. In the end, “In a Lonely Place” remains one of the best movies I’ve ever seen.
It is a testament to the art of noir and the power of storytelling where even the brightest moments of intimacy can be overshadowed by the dark, unforgiving nature of human emotion.
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